


Stiles’ Sexy Sing-O-Gram Service

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Embedded Images, M/M, Singing, Stiles Stilinski Can Sing, sing-o-gram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has no idea who the guy in the naughty Santa outfit is,  but he does know this: <i>Derek wants him.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles’ Sexy Sing-O-Gram Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleep0bleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 6: Gift for bleep0bleep! 
> 
> Happy December 6th!

Derek pushes his way into the office on December fifteen with a bounce in his step and joy in his heart. In just five short days, the offices will be closed for the rest of the year, giving him an entire two weeks off before he has to come back on January third. It’s… the best feeling in the world and nothing can possibly pop his bubble of happiness.

Not even seeing Greenberg hanging over the front of his desk, completely unprofessional as he gawks at something further down the room that Derek can’t see. With a exasperated sigh, Derek makes his steps heavier; when that doesn’t faze Greenberg, Derek allows his soft-side briefcase to “accidentally” clip the idiot on the back of his head. 

"Oh, uh. Hey, Mr. Hale," Greenberg says after squawking and nearly flipping completely over his desk before catching himself… but not before knocking a mug filled with pens to the floor, breaking the handle off the mug. "You, uh. You’re here." And then he gulps, his wide eyes flickering toward where he’d been gaping seconds before even though Derek knows for a fact that he can’t see anything past the cubicle wall next to him.

And now… now Derek is _curious_ , because while Greenberg acts like a fool on a good day, he’s not usually this jumpy. So Derek just nods an acknowledgement at Greenberg and tightens his grip on his briefcase, eyes narrowing as he notices that the cubicles all along the floor are suspiciously empty. What in the—

Right as he’s looking around in bemusement, he hears it. A smooth voice belting out “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, the old-fashioned version with just a few slight changes in the lyrics of the chorus that make blood rush into Derek’s cheeks. He quickens his pace, and then he sees him. 

The guy that’s singing is dressed in a [Santa hat, red hot pants held up by suspenders, and black boots](http://thatslikewhoa.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/christmas-costumes11.jpg)… and nothing else. He’s singing still, the song beginning to wind down, and with every naughty word out of his mouth, he gives this big, ridiculous wink at Erica, who he seems to be serenading. 

Derek looks around frantically, trying to find Boyd, and then he stops because he realizes that Boyd is _right there_ , his big shoulders shaking as he chuckles quietly, his eyes fond as he watches Erica visually appreciate the man in front of her. Not that Derek can blame her. There is a _lot_ to appreciate. 

He can’t see the man’s hair with the way the Santa hat is falling over his head, but his eyebrows are a rich dark brown, his eyes a much lighter brown surrounded by thick lashes, the cutest fucking nose he’s ever seen, and a beautiful mouth that… that Derek’s not going to think about in front of his employees. But that’s not where it stops, not by a long shot. He’s also got impossibly wide shoulders that taper to a lightly muscled waist, lean, well-defined arms, and legs that would look really good wrapped around Derek’s waist.

Fuck.

The man finally ends the song with a loud, carrying, “Santa Claus is chokiiinnng… meeeee… doooown!” Every single person in the room is either clapping, laughing, or calling out completely inappropriate suggestions — even the usually coolly aloof Victoria Argent from accounting — and Scott McCall looks like he’s about to have an asthma attack, he’s laughing so hard. While Derek watches, the man steps forward, offering a hand to Erica and pulling her to her feet. She goes easily, not even questioning it when he pulls her into his arms, dips her low, and places a loud, smacking kiss directly on her ruby red lips. In fact, she reaches down and pinches his ass, much to the enjoyment of her co-workers.

The man swishes her back upright, grins cheekily, and pulls a card from the front pouch of his hot pants — a cheerily grinning Santa face — and reads from it in a clear, carrying voice. “‘To the love of my life. Merry Christmas. Boyd.’” And then he wrinkles that pert little nose and casts a look at Boyd. “You could have at least added x’s and o’s. I mean, if you’re getting a naughty sing-o-gram for your fiance at Christmas—”

And then, like it’s been planned this way, Boyd steps forward and shakes his head. “I’ll have to save those for next time. Since, you know, she’s not my fiance yet.” Turning to Erica, he drops to one knee and pulls a _very significantly shaped_ box from his pocket. “But I’ll be happy to fix that now. Erica, will you—”

But Erica doesn’t let him finish. She squeals loudly, leaping at Boyd and knocking him to the floor while the entire room just goes _nuts_ , some shouting congratulations while others stand with hands over mouths and eyes open wide. 

Somehow, in the midst of the bedlam that is his normally quietly productive office, the man in the naughty Santa suit manages to slip out without Derek noticing. And that… well. Thinking of his missed opportunity at watching that delicious ass sway its way out the door, Derek feels his spirits plummet.

—

The next time he sees the man, he’s no longer in a Santa suit. This time, when Derek comes in from a late lunch, he sees the man bent over — _fuck_ , that _ass_ — elbows planted on Greenberg’s desk as he croons out an altered version of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

His outfit is… amazing, actually. He’s got on a micro-mini dress in faux fur trimmed with white at the hemlines that just barely covers his ass, brown fur boots that come up to his knee, and there’s a pair of felt antlers perched at a jaunty angle on hair the same color as his eyebrows. Sadly, though, his pretty nose is covered up with a red applique nose, and his forearms are hidden under fingerless gloves that match the rest of his outfit. 

Derek just stands near the door — not that he could get much further, as packed as the hallways are with people standing around in second-hand enjoyment of Greenberg’s naughty sing-o-gram — eyes locked on that ass where it’s twitching back and forth. If asked later, he’ll claim he was watching the attached tail bopping along, but he doesn’t make a habit of lying to _himself_. That’s an ass he wants to sink his teeth — and another very interested body part — into. He can’t even make himself feel bad about objectifying this guy because, wow, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point.

Once again, when the song finishes, the guy pulls Greenberg into his arms, dips him low, and gives him a loud, smacking kiss. 

Derek only feels a _little_ jealous, but by the time the guy’s read the personalized message to Greenberg from someone who calls themselves _Coach_ , he’s managed to get himself under control. He’s determined not to let this guy escape without a word this time, but when the guy spins on his heel and turns toward the doors, Derek _still_ hasn’t come up with anything to say.

So he just swallows and tries for a smile — he’s been told he has a hell of a resting bitch face — but he’s afraid it really just comes off as a grimace. And when the guy looks up at him, he’s sure of it, because he stops, going perfectly still, and his wide, Bambi-esque eyes widen even further. His cheeks go a little splotchy with color and he swipes the tip of his pink tongue over his bottom lip so that it glints in the light, shiny and wet.

"Um," he says in that voice that had starred in more than one of Derek’s fantasies in the last week. "I, um. Hi?"

Derek dips his chin in a nod and opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Feeling mortification rising in him, he steps aside, and makes a little gesture at the door.

It’s meant to be a “I’m sorry I’m such an idiot standing here blocking the exit” but apparently it looks more like a “take your ridiculous, beautiful ass, and exit the building immediately” because the guy shoots him one last, slightly fearful look, and _bolts_.

—

Derek finds out through carefully questioning Boyd that the guy’s name is _Stiles_ and he’s apparently a friend of McCall’s from way back, which is how Boyd found out about him. Of course, Boyd mentions the careful questioning to his new fiance, Erica, and Derek’s life immediately becomes a thousand times worse. 

Sexy Stiles is called into the office at least three additional times in the next two days, in varying tiny, holiday-themed outfits. Each time, Derek wants to say something to him, but Stiles is starting to look _hunted_ when Derek makes eye contact with him. So, to prevent the poor guy from a mental breakdown, Derek starts coming to work earlier and earlier, and staying in his office with the shades down until it’s time to leave. 

And if the shades are bent from where he peeks through them to see Sexy Stiles in [a chest-baring, tight green elf costume](http://ep.yimg.com/ay/yhst-39560371480371/elf-man-costume-3.jpg), no one but Derek has to know about it.

—

It’s the last day of work before the offices close for the holidays, and usually Derek would be on cloud nine, but instead he’s huddled at his desk, feeling inexplicably gloomy because he’s never going to see Sexy Stiles again after today. There’s no reason for him to, after all, as the sing-o-gram season will be over.

A low, pitiful sigh ruffles the paperwork laid out in tidy stacks on his desk before a sharp rap on his door alerts him to the fact that someone’s there. It’s probably Erica, come to bring him the year-end reports for his signature. Lifting his head, he straightens his shoulders and calls out, “Come in!” 

Only… only it’s not Erica. 

Sexy Stiles is standing there instead, wearing [tiny shorts](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41F2Cz9nbCL._SR160,160_.jpg) that look like they have a bag attached to the front. Scrawled across the bag is the word _Nice_ in a cheerful script. His Santa hat is once more on his head, and he smiles shyly at Derek before starting to sing “Silent Night.”

Only this time, he doesn’t change any of the words which is probably a good thing, because it’s honestly Derek’s favorite Christmas song, even if the line about _mother and child_ makes him tear up every time. He sings it perfectly, his voice making chills skate over Derek’s skin, and when he winds down to a close, Derek has to take a minute to just _breathe_ because it was probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

When Stiles finishes, he reaches up to his hat and lifts it off, carefully upending it and reaching inside for a card. He clears his throat and reads, “‘From all of us. Merry Christmas, boss man. Enjoy your gift.’”

Derek looks beyond Stiles for the first time since his office door opened and sees all his employees standing in the background, some of them wiping their eyes. He smiles gently and ducks his head, not knowing how to thank them for this. “I… I… you all…”

"I expect a bonus!" Erica pokes her head in to shout, before she grins wickedly and pulls his door closed. 

Leaving Stiles and Derek alone in his office. Derek… doesn’t know what to do with that. Well, no, he knows what he _wants_ to do with that, but he doesn’t have enough insurance to cover a sexual harassment lawsuit of that magnitude.

But Stiles is still there, and he’s looking at Derek somewhat expectantly. Which is when it hits Derek that he _gets a kiss_. He stands up so fast his vision goes spotty, and manages to knock over his — thankfully empty — coffee cup in his haste to get around the desk. 

And then he’s standing there, eyeball to eyeball with the man that’s invaded every aspect of Derek’s life this week — including his dreams — and he… waits. And waits. And waits some more.

"Don’t I get a kiss?" he finally blurts, and then he wants to kick himself, because _really?_ Jesus, he’s so bad at human interaction.

But something about that makes Stiles smile, wide and beautiful, and his eyes light up before he steps closer, so close their chests are almost touching. He wraps one hand around Derek’s waist, his grip firm, and catches Derek’s shoulder with the other. The dip, when it comes, is a lot slower than Derek remembers them being, and the kiss isn’t a loud, showy smack. Instead, Stiles brushes his mouth over Derek’s, sucks his bottom lip for a split second, and pulls back. Righting them both, he leaves his hands where they are and murmurs, “So, you didn’t ask about my outfit.”

Derek blinks at him, lips buzzing and hoping like hell his dick isn’t as obvious in its appreciation as he thinks it must be. “Your outfit?”

"Close enough." Sliding his hands over Derek’s waist and chest, Stiles finally steps back and holds out the bag attached to the front of his shorts. Only it’s not a bag. It is literally the front half of the shorts he’s wearing, which means, when he holds the material out like that, Derek is left staring at the miniscule scrap of fabric covering _Stiles’_ dick. “These are undies for two. The only problem is, I don’t have anyone to share them with.” And then he _bites his lip_ and looks up at Derek through his eyelashes.

And Derek… Has to sit down. On his desk. “Are you…?”

"I don’t share my undies on the first date, of course. But in order to get to the undie-optional third date, we have to do that first. It’s like… a math law, numbers and counting or something. Which I hear you’re good at."

Derek smiles at that, can’t help it, because _Sexy Stiles just asked him out._ “It’s lunch time,” he says, whispering conspiratorially. 

Stiles is staring at his mouth and blinks a few times, looking dazed, before he lifts his gaze to Derek’s and says, “Um. Yeah? Oh! Yes. It is.” And his smile when he says that is _dazzling_. “By the way,” he says, stepping forward and gently easing Derek’s legs open so he can slide between them, “I’m Stiles.”

"I know." And then, because he actually does understand how things like this work, he says, "I’m Derek."

"Scott told me. If this works out, you should give him a raise."

"I plan to." There’s a little pause that’s slightly awkward because Derek isn’t sure what the protocol is when you’ve got a sexy sing-o-gram guy standing between your splayed thighs, chewing his lip like he wants to be chewing _something else_. Speaking of chewing… “How do you feel about Thai?”

Stiles’ hands go to his thighs and squeeze. “I like them. A lot.”

"No… I…" Derek’s mouth hangs open a little awkwardly, prompting Stiles to laugh gently.

"Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I’ve wanted to get my hands on them since _Monday_. How are you even _real_?” Stiles squeezes again, lightly dragging his hands higher up Derek’s thighs. “Thai sounds perfect.”

When Derek finally gets around to dragging Stiles out of his office, both of them looking a little ruffled and somewhat bruised around the mouth, he calls out to Erica, “I’m taking a long lunch.”

And then he politely ignores the way she snorts and calls back, “Yeah, long and _hard_ ,” because he’s too busy escorting Sexy Stiles out the door to their first date.


End file.
